Entourage fic: A loaf of bread, a flask of wine, and EEric/Vince, 3529 words, RVince ponders his relationship with his manager. Written just after the S2 Sundance episode, which is where it’s up to on local TV.

Vince had known his role in life for a long time, ever since the first aunt had cooed over his pretty curls and chocolate eyes. He was the hot one, the lusted-over one, the one who came home with pockets full of beer mats scrawled with phone numbers and his face stained with kissed-off lipstick. It was easy to be generous with the spoils when they came so easy. He was generous to the point of stupidity, as Eric never tired of saying, but deep down he knew this was because he hadn't earned most of what he got.

Eric was the only possession Vince really cared about, the only one he felt he deserved, and the only one he was resentful about sharing. And the only one who didn't think he belonged to Vincent M. Chase at all. Turtle and Drama were perfectly happy to be kept men; Ari considered himself a welcome mat under the dirty feet of every client. Eric answered to no one but Eric. He told Vince when he was being a little bitch, argued with him about his spending, reamed him out over his (multiple) bad habits. Turtle had once asked Vince why he put up with it. Vince's answer was a lie, of course: he couldn't tell Turtle that he was proud of gaining Eric's friendship, as opposed to his sycophancy.

In return, Eric had his back. Vince doubted that about as much as he doubted that the sky was blue. Eric did right by him - which didn't mean he did everything Vince wanted, or accepted everything Vince gave him. Gifts invariably found their way to Turtle or Drama's rooms. The girls Vince put Eric's way from time to time were put to the use Vince and God intended - Eric was only human, after all - but Eric never seemed to enjoy it very much. It was like he was performing a duty, and not a very pleasant one at that. In his heart of hearts Eric was hopelessly suburban, and the vices of Hollywood were not to his taste. He wanted the cute little caring girlfriend, the house, the car, the 2.5 kids. The hot girls he took to bed were like obstacles to be overcome on the way to that life. Vince forgave him that because Eric was here, after all; here with him. For now.

Turtle and Drama, left to themselves, would have been content with the one or two women providence sent their way - scraps from richer men's tables. Now that they had the opportunity for more, they exploited it to the fullest. They wouldn't earn love and affection if they could buy it instead, with Vince's money or Vince's proximity. Vince didn't think this made them bad, until he compared them to Eric.

If reasonably hot women would sleep with Turtle and Drama just to get to Vince, then it was obvious that scorchingly hot ones were available to Eric. But aside from one or two notable exceptions, Eric abstained. Vince couldn't figure if that was because he saw the girls for what they really were - something far less pretty than their faces - or if he just preferred to dig for his own treasure. Vince thought it was maybe a little of both. Eric was just a stand-up guy, plain and simple. He had his own way of living and he stuck to it, more or less. Vince hadn't seen anyone as cut about about being unfaithful as Eric was over Kristen since his dad left his mom.

It wasn't in Vince's nature to think deeply about things. They had to be big, clear and unambiguous to get through unscathed. So it was pretty damn obvious to Vince that he had a bit of a thing for Eric. He simply wasn't capable of hiding that fact from himself. Between the drugs, and dropping out of high school, and pushing everything to the outside for acting, there was nowhere for the news to go but out into the open.

The thing went beyond the physical. Eric was sweet and all; he had a sort of crooked grin that did freaky things to Vince's insides, but he wasn't lighting any fires with his looks. Not like Vince. But Vince found himself looking at things on Eric that he'd never even seen on a girl: the way Eric's eyes crinkled up when he yawned. Or: the strange places he had little clusters of freckles. Or: the tender whorls of his knuckles as Eric played with his shirt buttons. Or: the delicate wisps of hair on his belly.

Those Vince had seen when they all sunbathed by the pool. He'd never seen Eric buck naked, not even close, but he was starting to want to. The feeling disturbed him less than it might have; after all, this was Eric. And Eric was Vince's man. Vince loved forcing a laugh out of him because it felt like such an achievement. He loved talking to Eric about films - the one area in which Vince's intellect was equal to anyone's. He loved a lot of things about Eric without loving Eric.

Vince rarely felt guilty about anything, not even what Turtle called his 'unfair advantages' - complete with a scowl at his crotch. But he was torn over Eric. Everyone else in Hollywood understood that you left your morals and inhibitions at the door. Drama would and had blown for bit-parts. A horny Turtle was up for anything, provided nothing got around about who and what he was up for it with.

Eric, on the other hand, wouldn't touch, wouldn't look or even think about another guy that way without re-evaluating his whole life. He'd have to be one hundred percent gay, first. Vince and the rest of L.A. knew that a marriage cert wasn't worth the toilet paper it was printed on, but Eric would need a triple-signed affidavit and probably a ring before he'd so much as put his hand on someone's dick. He needed sex to mean something, and not just 'it feels nice.' And because of that, Vince couldn't take advantage of him, but he also couldn't shake the thing. They were dangerous waters to tread.

Vince had actually bought Eric a platinum band for his last birthday. Eric had seemed puzzled, but he said thanks and put it on. Vince hadn't seen it on him for a while. Probably since Ari asked Eric about it, sniggered and called him Vince's bitch, now that Vince came to think about it. Considering Ari called himself Vince's bitch about twenty times a day, there was no reason to take that to heart. No reason, unless you were Eric Murphy, who was nobody's bitch.

L.A. was all the things Vince's grandma had warned him about: promiscuity, iniquity, loose and scarlet women (usually in the same body), and enough 'unnatural practices' to fill an anthropologist's spank bank. The fact that Vince touched Eric, a lot, went unnoticed. Friendship and its associated rituals were low on the priority lists of Hollywood's elite. In junior high it would have been enough to get them both lynched.

Without fear of retribution or discovery, Vince hugged Eric - walked with his arm hooked around Eric's neck - bumped fists, high fived, clasped hands with him - even crushed his laughing face into Eric's neck when he was drunk. Nobody batted an eyelid, and wouldn't have even if they could. Everyone was so doped up on Botox that there were only two expressions left above Sunset: pre and post.

That Eric didn't even regard Vince's affection as abnormal just showed how innocuous it was. Emboldened, Vince had begun to notch it up a little. He draped his arms around Eric from behind when he was sitting down with a book, and rested his chin on Eric's soft hair. Eric would shake him off after five minutes, but only because he 'broke my concentration - go annoy Drama, it's his turn.' He snuck into Eric's room after he'd gone to bed and talked to him until he fell asleep, and then kissed him goodnight. Only on the forehead or cheek; Vince wasn't down with mouth-rape. Of course, it all made the thing harder to deny, or pass off as simple admiration. It was starting to look more like a crush. Vince hadn't had an unrequited crush since elementary school, and only then because she'd moved state.

It all lulled Vince into a false sense of security, which was completely shattered at Cannes. Vince had been expecting the driver to pull some weird shit - there was something off about a girl that gorgeous wanting to bury herself in Africa with the lepers. A threesome with Turtle and Drama was the least of it, in Vince's opinion. He thought Turtle's hysterics about crossing swords were hilarious, right up until Eric pulled a face and said, 'Ew.' Then all the humour went right out of the conversation.

So Eric wasn't even slightly interested in checking out another guy's equipment - that was fair. Probably normal. But Vince still felt like a rock had been dropped on him from a great height. The only thing that pulled him out of the doldrums was James Cameron's phone call, and even that felt like it was happening to someone else. Eric high-fived him on the mountaintop like nothing had changed. Of course for him, nothing had.

The publicity girl from the night before came back for round two. Vince thought she might have been the one who scored Eric, but he was too much of a gentleman to refuse a lady's request. He fucked her twice in the Jacuzzi - once from the front for her, once from behind for himself - and sent her home with a goodnight kiss and the few freebies that Turtle hadn't already hoovered up. The night was still young by Hollywood standards. Turtle and Drama were still out, pulling or trying to pull, but Vince knew Eric had come back even earlier to set up some meetings on a video conference with Lloyd.

Still naked and dripping from the Jacuzzi, Vince wandered through the cabin in search of a beer or Eric, whichever came first. He found both at the same time: Eric was standing in front of the fridge with a cell glued to his ear, rummaging. He spotted Vince and raised his eyebrows; Vince mouthed 'beer' and Eric tossed him a can of Bud. He was nodding, frowning and saying 'Yeah' a lot, his hand still inside the fridge. Helpfully, Vince leaned over him and extracted a can for Eric, and gently steered him away. Fridges were cold; Vince knew because he often had an insatiable urge to sleep in them when high.

At last Eric cut the call. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. His hair was standing up from where he'd run his hands through it; Vince felt a hot eddy swirl in the pit of his stomach.

"Tough call?" he asked.

Eric shrugged and cracked the tab of his beer. "No, just complicated, you know? Trying to arrange everyone's agendas so they can be in the same place at the same time. Lloyd is a star. I don't think Ari appreciates how great he is."

Eric's teeth clanged against the beer can as he coughed. "No, I can safely say he doesn't appreciate my greatness. Such as it is. Aren't you cold?"

"No." Vince looked down. The kitchen counter was a cold line along his lower back, but the heating level in the cabin was tropical. "Should I be?"

"I think there is a reason why Canada is the nation of thermal underwear," said Eric, "but feel free to flip off their sensible traditions." He drummed his fingers on the table, his eyes fixed to a spot just above Vince's left shoulder. "You have tan-lines."

"I do? Where?"

"On your arms." Eric nodded at Vince's bicep. "You'll have to work on that. Aquaman's costumes are gonna show some skin, even when I get rid of that travesty Warner came up with."

"I'll work on it when we get home," Vince promised. He smirked. "Will you rub lotion on my back for me?"

"Call one of your million fangirls to do it," snapped Eric. "I'm your manager, not your pimp."

"It was just a joke," said Vince, hurt afresh by Eric's disgust. "Sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. I get it." Vince put down his beer and moved to stand behind Eric. When he curled his hands over Eric's shoulders, Eric jumped. "You're totally tense, E. Let me just rub your shoulders a bit. You're going to a masseuse as soon as we get back to L.A. When's the last time you saw one?"

"I don't know," admitted Eric, which was tantamount to a crime in Bel Air. "When's the last time you slept with one?"

"Funny." Vince dug his fingers into Eric's knotted tendons, trying not to get turned on by Eric's little whimpers of relief. He realised for the first time how naked he was. Vince had never been ashamed of his body - there was nothing to be ashamed of, with his body - but Eric probably wouldn't appreciate it if Vince's erection started massaging his lower back.

Vince had been popping boners like crazy around Eric lately, which was why he'd taken to wearing loose sweatpants - they hid a multitude of sins. Once, Vince had managed to get his hand inside and rub himself off while watching Grey's Anatomy. Well, the guys had been watching Grey's - at Drama's insistence. Vince had been watching Eric as he laughed, mouth big and wet, and Vince imagined shoving his dick in there and was gone. No one had even noticed Vince's hand disappearing. Grey's Anatomy sure was an enthralling show.

"Feeling any better?" he whispered, not trusting his voice not to come out hoarse with lust if he spoke louder.

Eric smiled with his eyes half-closed. Vince's stomach turned over. Eric was at the door before Vince mustered the courage to speak. He had to know, but if he didn't say it now he never would.

"Hey, E..."

"Yeah?"

"Why were you so grossed out by Turtle and Drama crossing swords last night?"

Eric opened his eyes wide. "Because it's Turtle and Drama crossing swords! Dude, I don't want to think about either of those dorks naked."

"Oh." Vince could have laughed with relief. "I thought you were all anti-gay or something for a minute. 'Cause, like, I've totally done that in a threesome. It's kind of hard to avoid."

"Yeah, I guess," mumbled Eric. Vince registered that he was blushing hotly. He clenched the back of the chair. Down, boy.

An imp of mischief usurped Vince's soul. "You know when there's three of you in the bed - or four - everything gets a little confusing. All the sheets are sweaty, there's so much skin everywhere. The moaning and panting, you don't know who's doing it, if it's you or the other guy or the other girl. You don't know whose fingers are touching you, you're too busy sticking yours anywhere you can, humping the fucking mattress until someone gets down to you. And ... you've never been in a threesome, have you, E?"

"Shut up." Eric was puce with mortification. "No."

"Sorry, I couldn't resist." Vince was laughing, a bright clear sound that penetrated Eric's embarrassment. Once he was sure Eric was over it, he plunged him in it again. "Never even been with another guy - right, E?"

"C'mon, Vince," said Eric. "What is this, humiliate a friend night? Don't forget I know about that time you puked in Karen Zwiger's gym shoes and blamed it on her brother."

"You didn't answer the question, E."

Eric frowned. "No, okay? Shockingly enough, this straight man has never taken it up the ass from another guy."

"Would you like to?" asked Vince, his heart pounding. Eric gaped, then grinned.

"You're just fucking with me, aren't you? Turtle's behind there with a video camera, isn't he? Vince? Vince, what are you -"

Vince pushed Eric up against the fridge, bracketing him with his arms. He was shaking from a mixture of fear, anger and blood-thumping, hardcore, free-fall lust. "I only want to fuck with you, E," he whispered. He was careful not to actually touch Eric, his splayed palms inches from Eric's head and his body a taut arch. He could barely hold himself back from grinding into Eric, from stealing all the kisses from that shocked-open mouth. But this was Eric. "Fuck you, fuck me, just fucking. You and me. For-fucking-ever." He dropped his forehead against Eric's, unable to resist that one contact. Eric was frozen in silence.

When it became clear that Eric was reserving the right to remain silent, Vince shoved himself away. He slammed into the bathroom and hunched over the sink. His eyes were hot, but he was too angry with himself to give vent to tears. He'd ruined it, ruined him and Eric, and Eric had just stood there - hadn't even hit him. Perhaps he realised Vince would enjoy even that contact too much.

The cabin was in darkness when Vince finally emerged, swathed in a towelling robe. He knocked gently at Eric's door, then harder; when it pushed it open the moonlight spilling over the bed showed that it was empty. Eric had already left.

Vince stumbled into his own bedroom and fell face-forward on to the pillows. The dammed tears began to spill over, wetting the lacy fabric and making it stick to his cheek.

"I was wondering how long you'd lock yourself in the bathroom for."

"Eric!" shouted Vince. He turned too quickly and fell off the bed. Eric was there, actually there and smiling at him. Vince forgot to wipe his face.

"Remember that time your mom wouldn't get you a new bike and you locked yourself in the bathroom for twelve hours? I thought your sister was going to kill you with her bare hands."

"Eric," said Vince, not hearing a word he said, not processing anything but the fact that he was there. Eric crouched down beside him on the floor. He reached out and awkwardly brushed the tears from Vince's face.

"Don't be such a baby, Vince."

"I wasn't crying," sniffed Vince. "It was hayfever."

"Vince, it's minus ten and snowing out there. What hay?"

"Shut up." Vince punched Eric in the shoulder. Eric caught his hand and held it. He pulled the belt of Vince's robe free with his other hand, a swift smooth motion that bared Vince's shoulders and chest. Eric pushed the cloth all the way down Vince's arms, as if he were undressing a child.

"You're so -" Eric's voice cracked. "Why me?"

Vince blinked and tried to remember. It was unfair of Eric to ask questions when he could be kissing Vince. "I love you."

"Holy shit, Vince, you can't just say that -"

Vince cut him off with his mouth. Eric's mouth was already open so Vince slid his tongue in, feeling Eric gasp as his chest hitched under him. And - yes, Eric was hard too, his dick straining against Vince's hip. Vince smiled into the kiss, stroking Eric's face while Eric got him entirely naked.

"You could have saved yourself some effort if you'd just said yes before," muttered Vince, as Eric threw Vince's robe halfway across the room and trailed his hands down to cup his ass.

"You took me by surprise," said Eric. "One minute we were talking about Karen Zwiger's gym shoes -"

"You were, you mean."

"- and the next you were propositioning me? You gotta give a guy the chance to shift gears. Besides, I thought you were joking."

"I'd never joke about this." Vince thumbed the button of Eric's jeans and stared into his eyes as he pulled the zip. Eric's pupils were black as night and he was breathing hard. Vince wanted him so badly he could hardly breathe.

"I'm glad," choked Eric. "You - oh God -"

"You wouldn't believe how many people make that mistake," said Vince. Eric narrowed his eyes and bit the fingers Vince stuck in his mouth. Vince laughed.

I found this through the most round-about method. I'm completely obsessed with Entourage right now. I actually mainlined the show in approximately two weeks since that was how long it took to buy everything on DVD and have Amazon ship it to me. I'm flipping dying to get Season Four on DVD but apparently that release isn't scheduled anytime soon.

I love love love your E. E randomly giving anecdotes while Vince is attempting to proposition him (while completely naked, God, Vince, God) is totally in character for me. I love how they're friends and it's so easy for me to see that what Eric has been looking for in a woman (and a relationship), he already has with Vince. This was amazing. Thanks so much for writing for this fandom!